


soft animal

by gaysquared



Category: Castlevania (Cartoon), 悪魔城ドラキュラ | Castlevania Series
Genre: Are Erotic Nightmares a thing? Bc they are now!, Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Dreams and Nightmares, Light Angst, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Slight eating of dead flesh, Slight purple prose, but it’s purely incidental, please don’t be scared by these tags, they still bone, they’re just bad dreams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-03-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:20:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22570882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaysquared/pseuds/gaysquared
Summary: Alucard is being tormented by nightmares of a curious nature.Little does he know, so is Trevor.
Relationships: Alucard | Adrian Tepes | Arikado Genya/Trevor Belmont
Comments: 28
Kudos: 286





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooh boy am I nervous for this one.
> 
> I’m most definitely trying something a little different here; but I hope it’ll be fun enough. Even if the Jungian psychoanalysis gets a little heavy. 
> 
> There’s some definite gore below; (although this does admittedly seem like a poor choice of fandom if gore bothers you quite a bit, but you do you). If a dead body getting snacked on a little bit bothers you, well; I might look away. 
> 
> Also; I will probably have some aggressive use of epigraphs in this story, lol. Sorry if it all gets a bit pretentious. Again, trying something new; we’re all on this adventure together.

**_“Love is eating. Love is a snarling pig snout and long tusks. Love is a dress like the sun. Love is the color of blood. Love is what grown folk do to each other because the law frowns on killing.”_**

**\- Catherynne M. Valente, _Six-Gun Snow White_**

  
  
______

The first dream Alucard remembers of this particular nature involved the Belmont Hold, falling ash, his bloodied canine jaws, and, well; Trevor. 

Alucard is, of course, well-acquainted with nightmares. The concept is nothing new; he had plenty of them just in the time he was left alone in the castle, though he’s loathe to admit it. Most of them contained echoes of the past; shame and grief coming back to haunt him just as his waking visions did. 

These dreams, however; they have the barbed rush of expansive images, beyond what he’s seen or even imagined in waking life. There is a thrill and a terror and a seething, steadfast voracity to them that, frankly, scares him. Here, in these dreams, is something novel and unknown to him; except what causes him the most fear is considering perhaps it _is_ known to him, in some dark, buried place he dare not look. Stranger still, then, that Trevor is always there.

This first one; instantly immersive, yes; he remembers first and foremost the feeling of exhaustion gripping his bones, paws treading down long, damaged stairs as ash fell like snow from the sky and fractured beams above. It coated his fur, dusty and fine, gray disappearing into white.

There was no heat left, no smoldering timbers; simply the cold of the night and soft huff of his breaths as he moved onward, steady and sure.

This part was liquid-like, difficult to define. He knew he descended for a long while, but the stretch of time ran together, muddy and unimportant. Finally, it seemed, he reached the bottom, and saw what he’d been looking for. 

Trevor; yes, he knew it was Trevor the instant he saw him, even from far away; lay before the door to the library, body still and bluish in the low light. Soot was smeared along his face, the eyes vacant and open. His jaw hung, gaping, teeth covered by dusty plum lips.

Alucard felt dread, then panic; both bitterly cold and burning at his chest; and found even in that form, he felt more lupine than usual; as he seemed to give a full, mournful whine. Before he could decide to move, he found himself trotting over, feet padding briskly on the stone floor. 

If anything lay between them, he did not notice. He reached the man, huffing into the night air, jerking his white head about in agitation. He looked down to the source of his unrest, and overwhelmed, began to paw at the body; quickly then insistent and growing evermore panicked, as if willing the man to wake.

The flesh beneath him was stiff, heavy as wet wood, speckled the color of cornflower; and the eyes did not move. He heard himself whine again, giving way to short, grieving pants, and saw with horror and fascination the striped scratches he’d left on the body. They did not bleed.

He nuzzled close to the man’s face, desperate, licking below his ear, then pushed harder, rocking the head back and forth with force; all to no avail.

Sorrowful, defeated; he relegated himself next to understanding. He sniffed for blood, and was quickly drawn to a large wound spreading across the man’s stomach. Much of the initial blood had dried, but the hole-like gash itself was still open, looking slick and black, nauseating.

Still, Alucard found himself nosing at it, curiosity and grief morphing into something more, until he licked away at the inky blood. Soon he began to tear at the edge of the broken flesh with his teeth.

_“Who did this to you?”_ he wondered, but kept pulling. The scent of settled, dead blood filled his nose, even as his maw became coated thick and dark as if with jelly. 

Flesh torn away (he’d made quick work of it), he quickly bit, ravenous, into the ruined viscera inside, cold and wet. (This, Alucard remembers well when he wakes. The give and the pull of each piece of organ and meat that filled his mouth, some swallowed purely incidentally, some spat out onto the floor beside them. He remembers the taste, the slippery feeling of teeth against cooled blood, the resistance and yield and then the squelches as he tore through the body).

He kept going, all along, single-minded, until there was nothing left. Eventually, eventually, the body cavity was empty, connective tissues all torn away, lungs dragged out, heart somewhat ruined after attempted careful removal with his teeth, ribs only somewhat disturbed.

Alucard was tired.

For a moment, he stilled, anxiety no longer quelled by the task of separating flesh from flesh. His fur was slick with black blood; he looked on at the empty body, panting. 

Eventually he came to a decision. It felt so obvious; so easy. Here he knew he could make use of that relatively small, dog-like form of his; barely an excuse for a wolf. Submitting to the instinctive, he began to crawl inside. 

He squirmed and broke ribs and tussled against the cool, wet interior, shrinking himself as best he could, until he had fit himself inside in his entirety. It was damp and horrible, or it should have been; still, he lay his head on his crossed paws, his pants and growls growing softer as he curled against the stripped muscle and mottled flesh; emotion finally abating as his filthy form relaxed into the gore. He felt cocooned away from the remnants of terrible violence only just above them; wrapped as if in the embrace of the womb.

He fell asleep like that, in the dream; breath growing softer until he could not keep his eyes open, exhausted from worry and sorrow. Somehow, the wolf-him knew that when dawn came; showed the first rays of light through the hazy, gray air, into the ash-covered wood and stone of the keep; that perhaps, well; perhaps everything would be okay again. 

_______

He wakes with a start from that, real and humanoid in his own bed, heart racing but body still drugged and clogged with sleep. Clearing the hair from his face, he sits up,peaking into the cool light of the half-moon showing through a recently repaired window.

It takes little effort to light the room with the castle’s offered technology, and after a flick of his wrist later he finds himself still lost to the dream, breathing into the still night air, skin damp with sweat; the room glowing a soft beige-yellow in the artificial light.

Alucard is used to nightmares, or so he tells himself; over and over again, until he reclines back onto the headboard and stares off into nothing, touching his mouth absently. Strange indeed, but simply a nightmare. He does not allow himself to think this is something else entirely. 

______

Alucard has already exhausted his mother’s journals in search of some respite. Nothing, so far, has worked; even her more theoretical treatments laid out specifically with his hybrid nature in mind. Tinctures, infusions, potions, even poultices and salves; none have brought him any relief from these nightmares.

At first, he hadn’t worried much; perhaps these dreams would resolve themselves, and in the mean time, he could function fairly well off of little sleep; and so a bit of self-inflicted insomnia wouldn’t be an issue. But he did (much to his chagrin) have to sleep sometime; and when he did he more often than not woke up chasing the tendrils of some terrible dream, images haunting him for hours, if not days, to come.

Now, still, he finds himself staring into the large back cupboard of the kitchens, eyes tired and straining in the low light as he searches the shelves of herbal remedies, scanning across label after label of his own mother’s handwriting. 

Valerian, linden, skullcap, mandrake; he’s tried it all and more. Each one, (in strong enough doses), had certainly put him to sleep; but none had prevented nor softened any nightmares that came for him. The accompanying feeling of being unable to wake from his sedation was a harrowing one, each and every time.

Then there were mugwort, clary sage, lemon grass; all of which had only made the nightmares themselves worse. 

Still, he’s up in the pale night, searching his mother’s cabinet. If anybody could know how to quell such beastly apparitions of the mind, it would have been her. So on he goes, reading her familiar, careful scrawl; _juniper and lavender, juniper and lavender..._

Another one of the earlier dreams involved a picnic in the sunshine. The trees, verdant, winding and swaying in the breeze, cast waving shadows above him. The air was thick with the haze of spring, overwhelming. Perhaps he should’ve known from the setting; so idyllic; that the dream was not going to end well for him.

The blankets; thin linens; had been laid with fruits, fat and tender, the smell of grass and greenery strong even among the sticky sweetness. Trevor was there, as he always was in these dreams; laying in the warm hush of the sun, eyes closed, biting into something plump, juice running down his chin. Enjoying himself. 

He’d said something to Alucard, he was sure of it; although he can’t remember now. Some silly joke or jab, lips split open in a smirk. It couldn’t have been important, but Alucard wrestled with the gnawing feeling that perhaps it was. 

The man had dissolved into a laugh after that, skin shining with a soft sheen of sweat under the bright heat. The trees seemed to move and pulse with every short exhale of his breath, keeping time with his laughter. His eyes had sung that bright blue, lips sticky with juice; and if Alucard recalls correctly, it had taken him a very long time to look away from the sight. 

The short of it was, he’d watched Trevor transform into a beast; the clearing gone still, even the trees paralyzed under the weight of the becoming. First came the hoarse noises; Alucard tried not to look, only to see the sun swell and swell, going hot-red under his sight. And Trevor; his limbs were snapping and reshaping, twisting out into an unimaginable geometry, all undercut by the horrible roars of pain emanating from the widening mouth now baring many more teeth than before. 

In the end Alucard stabbed him through the heart, and woke feeble and afraid he would still feel the warmth of the blood of a friend dripping down onto his own chest. 

After that, they all become a bit of a blur, the dreams; there is always a violent end; always something bloody and grotesque. Alucard had many violent sleeping visions before this all started; the ones of burning he’d always thought the worst, for good reason; but these nightmares seem to keep to their themes of bodily mutilation through hand and teeth and blade quite steadily. 

Beyond this, just as often as Alucard was made to hurt Trevor, he was hurt in return; and around it went. Stabbings, stakings, disembowelment, dismemberment, decapitation; the methods of slaughter went on.

It has been almost two months, now, since Alucard has slept through the night without the interruption of one of these dreams.

He wonders, idly, if even vampires have dreams like this. Probably not; they embrace that violence in waking life. There would be no reason for it to disturb their sleep as well. But what does that say about him, then; or, does he even dare pose the question?

_Enough of that._

Juniper and lavender, there they are. Just a simple tea tonight, he figures. Honestly, either it works, or it doesn’t, and if it doesn’t it’s unlikely to do much harm. He pulls out both glass canisters, juggling them carefully in his long arms as he walks back to the kitchen.

The soft light, he allows himself to notice; only a few candles, as he hadn’t wanted to draw too much attention; is calming, reminding him of how his mother would sit up and read to him late into the night when he was a child. He’s so awfully nostalgic these days. But it’s better than the bad thoughts. Better to remember the good.

After depositing the jars onto the counter, he focuses on breaking up a tablespoon of juniper berries; the lavender flowers can be left whole; forearms flexing as he grinds the pestle against the fragrant flesh. It feels good for something to burn a bit in his muscles like that. With that done, he sets aside a drinking cup and sieve, methodical as ever.

Efficient, he puts water on the stove to boil, and then finds himself stepping back against the counter. He soon, unsurprisingly, becomes restless, with no further tasks to fulfill; his fingers drumming on the wood behind him.

He hasn’t said anything of these nightmares to the others. Sypha, he doesn’t want to worry; and he’s apprehensive of any prying on Trevor’s part. He has a feeling Sypha likely still possesses some idea that he is suffering _something_ , however. She is often uncomfortably perceptive.

If this goes on, though, he very well might have to ask for her help; underneath it all, there is still a possibility this affliction of his could somehow involve magic. He would inevitably turn to her if it came to that, even if it would involve swearing her to secrecy; which, who was he kidding; would undoubtedly become no secret at all. 

“Can’t sleep either?”

The voice, deep and graveled with sleep, startles him out of his thoughts. He jumps more than he should in surprise; then admonishes himself for not having heard the man coming. Trevor enters the kitchen; and for a moment Alucard cannot bring himself to look at his face, fear clutching at him with so many memories of his corpse black and blue and bloody.

When he does look up, though, Trevor’s face is its usual tawny-ochre, flush with life and shadowed in the low light. Trevor rubs a tired hand over the spot where Alucard has been looking, and the _dhampir_ quickly averts his eyes. In doing so he observes the other man at least has the decency to not _only_ be wearing his small clothes while wandering around the castle at night; trousers intact; although he isindeed shirtless. This, however, Alucard feels the urge to pointedly ignore.

His water is boiling, anyway.

Grateful for the distraction, he moves hastily to transfer the herbs into the sieve, then carefully takes the pot by the handle and pours gently until his cup is full. He puts out the stove, and realizes as he puts the pot back down again that now he has to wait for the tea to actually steep.

“I don’t need to sleep much,” Alucard finally answers, still turned away.

Trevor has been idling by a basket of things from the garden, it seems, about ten feet to the right. “What’s the tea for, then?” he asks, mouth full; with carrot, the Țepeș sees, after giving a quick glance.

Alucard finds himself pursing his lips in keen displeasure, but attempts to shove away his disgust. “A recipe of my mother’s.” Hopefully this will at least encourage the man not to pry. 

Turning round fully, Alucard sees Trevor simply give an understanding nod.

“Well, I hope it helps,” the man says, eyes strangely sincere. It’s unnerving. He moves closer, as casual as ever, and claps Alucard hard on the back. The _dhampir_ watches the line of the Belmont’s exposed muscles moving, flexing, carrying out the motion; can taste the scent of the man; the dulled musk of sleep, the dry breath, the soft trace of cedar; on his own tongue, feels the hurried thrum of life in his veins. “Sleep well, Alucard.”

With that, Trevor withdraws again, stopping only to pick up an apple on his way out, throwing it in the air and catching it back in his palm.

Alucard’s hand settles on his cup of tea, still too hot, and he lets the sharp pain sink in.

_Strange, indeed._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of the inspiration for this was me going “I wanna write about (x), but I don’t have anywhere to put it, even with all my OCs. It doesn’t fit any of their storylines. Welp, fanfiction it is then.”
> 
> But really; I’ve been so interested in the body and hunger and desire and beastliness as this actually neutral/somewhat positive aspect of all of our Selves and... I couldn’t get over it. The suppression of Hunger and what does that mean and what kind of vulnerability does it require to show this to another person... and on and on. 
> 
> Enough of that for now, though; they’re be plenty more opportunities in the future for me to get philosophical. 
> 
> I think y’all might actually get a dollop of smut next chapter, which I plan to update quickly; mostly because I’ve decided Erotic Nightmares will be a Thing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate this chapter a little bit; maybe a lot; but I also desperately want to be done with it, lol. Especially now that I have a migraine. 
> 
> Continued violence; (but, hey; with the bonus of some smutty shenanigans!) Below

**_“I press you to me. Come, pain, feed on me. Bury your fangs in my flesh. Tear me asunder. I sob, I sob.”_ **

**\- Virginia Woolf, _The Waves_**

______

There were always moments like this one, Trevor thought, where a loaded glance of Alucard’s eyes electrified him, sending something paralyzing coursing up his spine. Sometimes he wondered if it was some diluted version of a vampiric thrall; but then again the existence of the thrall itself had been debated for centuries. Still; the way it seemed to strip him of reason, undoing him as it crawled up and all around his skin; all that singular focus on him, and everything else fell away. Quietly, very quietly; deep in some place he wouldn’t name; it terrified him. 

Now, though, against all odds; he could have been under thrall, could’ve been to slave to every desire pressed on him, and he would frankly have not cared one bit; much as it might shame his ancestors. Alucard’s eyes sparked a dangerous gold in the low light, the stare direct and overpowering, as he looked at Trevor from further down the bed. His chin rested, a bit sharp, on Trevor’s stomach, his head tilted ever-so-slightly to the side, hair cascading along Trevor’s bare skin. The way Alucard breathed against him so softly made it feel like all the air in the room was pushing in on him, thrumming thick and soft.

“You’re a tease,” Trevor said, or at least tried to; he’s sure it came out more strained and desperate than he meant it.

Alucard simply grinned, fangs glinting; (there was that thrill, that fear, that intensity, that shame); and shook his head, slowly. One word, that was it; “Impatient.”

But there was already a hand tracing the lines of his small-clothes, a finger running delicately along the seam. Trevor kept having to blink, his sight going grooved and smudged in the haze, yet he was desperate not to miss a moment of the sight before him. He wanted to speak again, but before he could, the drawstring of his _braeis_ had already been deftly undone, Alucard throwing him a knowing smirk.

Trevor could feel the heat of the room dappling and sparking against his skin; the light was low, but every line of the man in front of him felt illuminated like the curve of the moon; a beautiful but false sun. Alucard had begun to drag the linen down Trevor’s thighs, fingernails digging in as they went. The Belmont hissed in pain, but the heat of him and the pulse of his arousal couldn’t lie, plain to be seen. The creature below him was so carefully restrained, hands steady as his gaze, and some part of Trevor feared terribly he would die before being satiated.

There were red lines, angry and stinging, on his thighs, now; and he almost marveled at them, impressed and proud and yet withering in shame; well, _figuratively_ on that last bit. Physically this couldn’t have been further from the truth; he couldn’t tell what made him ache more, Alucard’s eyes or the light touch of his hand on his hip.

He was so careful, still, this would-be monster; as he leaned in to kiss the base of Trevor’s cock, lips closed, looking as dutiful as if he were blessing himself with a saintly relic. Trevor’s hands shook, anxious with anticipation and restraint, but still he fisted them to his sides.

Just the first seal of lips around him had him knocking his head back, pain radiating through his skull in a ricochet. The warmth leaked down him, curling in his gut and pooling in his limbs. He’d been left waiting too long.

Alucard enveloped him further, mouth widening but lips so, so careful; there was no pain, no knick of sharp fangs. The dip in Trevor’s chest alerted him that perhaps he really would truly like to be destroyed, and the thought, stubbornly, made no effort to dissipate among the pleasure, simply following along the tension building in his body. 

Trevor tried to keep his legs still, aware he would soon be shaking in effort, but also that he was too prideful to confront this. Alucard simply looked up at him beneath those blond eyelashes, red rising in his face, flushed as a rose; and god, wasn’t that glorious?

Trevor found himself, so desperately it made his heart ache, wanting to reach out and touch him; to cup his cheek, run his thumb along the blush there; to stroke his hair, pull on the soft strands and twine them between his fingers. But such actions felt so staggering; so indecent, as if any tenderness would be the worst crime of all. Something he could never tempt fate with in a situation as precarious as this one.

Alucard was determined in everything he did; Trevor had always known this, since he met the man; but the intensity then undid him, muscles clenching under the oncoming onslaught of heat and sickly sweet pleasure. Fine golden hair draped along Trevor’s thigh, shifting as the dhampir kept at his work.

Just a bit of suction, pulling up, had Trevor reeling, gut twisting, the shaking echoes of orgasm alarming him already. Heat choked at his neck, sweat beginning to build thick with salt there.

“Wait,” he panted, although Alucard did not appear to hear him, simply carrying on with the same intense ferocity. It took everything in Trevor not to cry out, sweat nearly stinging his eyes as his feet curled in, legs wrapping around Alucard’s body as if pulled by string. “I can’t; wait—“

In the heady haze it was difficult to notice the slight sting at his back where it pressed into the plush mattress; he was far too focused with what lay before him. But the sharp pain still intensified, slotting between his ribs, and in his confusion he could only pant and blink, blurry-eyed, into the whirling heat of the room.

“Wait,” he repeated, voice tinged with a bit of fear now. The pressure increased, even as the pleasure settled in his bones elsewhere, body still winding tight. But he could feel something, hear something; more pain, and uncomfortable sounds, quiet but ominous, and panic set in quickly as he said, “something’s not right.”

Alucard either didn’t hear him or didn’t care, face mostly obscured. _Why won’t he look at me_ , Trevor thought; and then the pain doubled tenfold, sinking upwards from his back, and Trevor cried out, loud cracks and squelches filling his ears even as they began to ring. The lights kept shimmering, then swirling, agony replacing discomfort as the skin of his chest began to darken and bulge.

Just like that; pain so bright he could barely see, a hand erupted from the flesh, and Trevor sputtered, unable to breathe. Blood jumped from his mouth; the same blood the drenched the hand protruding from him, where it held his own heart, horribly still and gleaming. It didn’t make any sense, Alucard still between his thighs; but Trevor knew, well and fully, that the hand belonged to the man below him.

He couldn’t speak; only coughed more blood onto his already ruined flesh; and as everything went dark and dizzy, pain fading into soft, reverberating panic, there were Alucard’s eyes. Golden, serious, unapologetic; and most of all, still light with the flash of deadly control.

______

“Nightmares?” Sypha asks, folding closed the book in her hands.

Yes, nightmares. He finds himself a bit annoyed at her questioning stare; but her nature is to be curious, skeptical, investigative. He wouldn’t expect anything less.

“Yes,” he answers, more gruff than he means to be. “Almost every night.”

Trevor Belmont has known nightmares for a very, very long time; he’s fairly certain he hasn’t gone a week without them since the Hold burned. Mostly, they were nothing more than a nuisance, especially when he was so accustomed; the same images and themes always made themselves known. Often, then, there was a monotony to waking from a bad dream; it bored him that his subconscious remained so predictable.

But these dreams; well, these were different.

“I— normally I wouldn’t mind,” he started, feeling himself flush, and instantly admonishing himself for it. “But these... they’re strange. And at times... _erotic_.” He swallows, already regretting this admission. “Actually; _most_ of the time. Most of the time they’re erotic. But, listen—nightmares nonetheless.”

Sypha gives him a look at that, although seems to shake it away a moment later, accustomed to judging him without any real consequence. “Well. I suppose you’ve told me stranger and... more disturbing things.” There’s a chance he has, honestly, but he doesn’t know why she has to bring it up. “If they’re truly unpleasant, then I’m sorry you’ve had to suffer them,” she says, book put down onto the little table in front of her now.

Her hair is getting a bit long, a little shaggy; she’ll probably insist on cutting it herself again, like she always seems to do. “But all I can suggest is that you try to take something for them; or, simply wait for them to end on their own.”

Trevor knows he crinkles his nose at this; Sypha laughs, giving her eyes a bit of a roll.

“I don’t want to drink any potions,” Trevor says stiffly.

“That’s what you always say,” she sighs. “Even when you’re wounded and the pain is driving you mad. ‘It’s too bitter, let me suffer, I’d rather die;’ you make Alucard; _Alucard_ —worry over you like a mother hen, it’s ridiculous!”

Trevor swallows at that, going still, and; damn Sypha, but she seems to notice, gaze quickly tracing his frame.

“Do you hate his mother’s concoctions that much?” she asks, but her eyes light in a way that Trevor knows means she’s begun to listen very, very carefully.

Trevor clears his throat, breathing in. He finally sits in a chair close to her; the only other one in this corner of the library. 

“Ah... Alucard, he’s, well... To put it simply, he’s in these dreams. Many of them.”

Sypha raises a brow, but doesn’t say anything, as if waiting for him to continue. When he doesn’t, she asks, “In these erotic... nightmares?”

“Yes,” Trevor says, blowing it all out in one breath. “And I’d rather he didn’t know.”

“You don’t think talking to him about it would help, or, change anything at all?”

Trevor shakes his head, feeling his face heat. “No. In fact, I could only see it affecting things for the worse.”

Sypha stares at him for a moment, studying his face with even more than her usual scrutiny. Then she sighs. “Alright. If that’s what you think. But I’m afraid there’s not much I can do to help you.”

Trevor, unfortunately, has to agree. Still, he’s not sure how long he can last like this; waking up in the middle of the night from these dreams. Dreams of being choked with Morningstar’s chain until the metal dipped into the flesh of his neck and he bled and bled; being stabbed, being bitten, being torn apart; and each time waking, unavoidably, with a need to change his sheets, no matter the gruesome details he had just witnessed. He’s getting sorely tired of the laundry, for one. 

When he’d wandered into the kitchen the other night, fresh from a particularly ghastly (and, ashamedly, satisfying) dream, and seen Alucard, he’d very much considered jumping right out the nearest castle window.

The man had seemed so strange, standing there; lost to the world, but drumming his fingertips on and on in the same never-ending pattern.

Trevor tries to tell himself he didn’t scamper away from that encounter with all the dignity of a kicked dog. It doesn’t do him much good.

“Thank you anyway, Sypha,” he says; and she’s still studying him, light eyes curious in the cool gray cast of the library. “As always.”

“Of course,” she answers, rising from her chair as he rises from his, mirroring him. “I only wish there was more I could do.”

“Me too,” Trevor says, bloody and terrifying and obscene moments still returning to him in that very moment. 

______

“It’s not magic,” Sypha says, tone terribly apologetic as she lowers her hand from Alucard’s face. “At least, not that I can tell. And I can’t think of anything that could’ve triggered it, regardless.”

She studies Alucard’s features for a moment; she’s so earnest it sometimes overwhelms him; and purses her lips with apparent worry, tilting her head.

“I’m sorry,” she finishes.

“It’s alright,” Alucard assures, moving his hair out of his face. “It’s certainly not your fault.” After all, he’s still grateful that she bothered to try in the first place, sitting with him in the quiet disarray of a study in the western most tower.

Sypha nods, but doesn’t seem to really absorb his words, pout still present. “I know you like your privacy, which means it really must have been affecting you for you to come to me.” She glances at him again, more directly. “You haven’t had any luck?”

The juniper helped for a few nights, made the images less surreal, less intense; but after that it _reversed_ , only getting worse, even when he stopped taking it. Sleep is still low on his list of concerns, but he’s not sure that matters anymore; the images follow him into the daytime. They never really seem to abate, now, reflections and memories leaking through to the surface as they please. The things his mind creates; maybe he really is more monstrous than he’d always taken himself for.

Alucard shakes his head. “Nothing I’ve tried, nothing I’ve read; I thought maybe if it was some form of magic; but, well. It appears it isn’t.”

“Ah.” Her eyes are downcast. “I suppose there are some things we just can’t know, science or magic.” She’s still solemn, but shortly, her brow knits; Alucard recognizes it quickly. Often the only thing stronger than her ability to press and worry is her steadfast determination. She looks up at him, as if shaking herself from her pitying thoughts, and takes his hand. “We will figure this out. I promise. Even if we cannot understand the cause.”

Alucard can’t help but allow her a small smile. “Your human hope is, as always, perplexing, yet... fortifying.”

Sypha laughs softly at that, shaking her head at him. “You’re too cynical, and yet only when you want to be.” She hums, and then there’s a glint in her eye, and she tilts her head at him.

A moment of that, stretching on, and Alucard asks, “ _what?_ ” because he knows that look, and knows it won’t go away easily. 

She takes a deep breath, rolling her shoulders. “Trevor has been having similar dreams. Violent ones. He says it’s been over a month now.”

Alucard starts at this, but quickly hides it. “He has?”

“Yes.” The Speaker eyes him, chin lifting slightly. “He didn’t want me to tell you, but he can’t go a night without them. And neither can you, now.”

Alucard swallows, caution stirring in his stomach. “Are you saying... they’re the same?”

He told her only some details; mentioned Trevor was present in one case, but not all of them. He felt it might be enough to disguise the truth, but; he might’ve been wrong.

Sypha shakes her head. “Not the same, not necessarily, no.” She cracks the knuckles on one of her hands, Alucard’s slipping from hers as she looks upwards. “But similar themes, similar violence.” She tuts, as if thinking, then settles again in her chair. “It might mean something. He said, ah.... well, that he _might’ve_ dreamt of you.”

Alucard doesn’t know what to say to this, sinking back in his own chair just as she had. “Oh.”

“You should speak to him,” she adds, rounding out her argument. “If there’s even a chance it might help, isn’t it worth it?”

Normally, Alucard would give a very resolute no. However; if Trevor is experiencing something that is even remotely similar; if he plays his cards right, Alucard thinks, he might just make it out of this with his pride intact, reprehensible heart-to-heart and all.

“...Alright,” he answers, mind already spinning with the possibilities ahead. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They really just need a slight push to figure things out... and to bone. So look forward to that. 
> 
> Trevor: *will gladly drink himself to sleep on the cheapest, grossest ale*  
> Also Trevor: Get that willow bark away from me it nasty!!! >:(((


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to finish this before the next season premiered and; whew, guess I’m just in time.
> 
> (I’m still terrified of Trevor and Sypha living happily ever after while Alucard sits alone in the castle and hates his life but,,, Whatcha gonna do. Fanfiction, I guess)
> 
> They finally get down to boning (took ‘em long enough!)

**_“Somewhere, tucked away in the recesses of your nature, there is something which understands - something which responds to my touch like a harp string - something alien, and wild, and uncouth - something savage and untender, something fiercely willing, and fiercely hostile to the rest of you - something which is not you but me! And to that something I make my appeal…”_ **

**— Violet Trefusis, in a letter to Vita Sackville-West, dated 11 May 1920  
  
**

______

Truthfully, Alucard doesn’t like moping; and yet he’s found himself doing quite a bit of it since his father’s death. He takes no pleasure in his own self-pity, but still he’s left pensive, eyes glassy as he stares out a broken window; the library is still under repair, after all. His mind follows the trails of distorted, worried possibilities without his permission; it has no care or mercy for him, although this doesn’t surprise him.

He’s searching his mother’s books again; just in case, he’s told himself; although his head feels clouded and distracted all the while, eyes blurring with strain in the wavering light.

Alucard has grown more than tired of her medicinal books on human anatomy, and now he’s turned instead to vampire, although he’ll admit he isn’t entirely convinced it will be of use to him. When the more anatomical tomes fail him, he moves on yet again to the theoretical and psychological.

The dreams haven’t stopped. Perhaps they’ve gotten worse still; either way, the images still follow him into the day. With every passing night it becomes more and more difficult for him to look at Trevor, chest laden with guilt and fear. Sypha has been keeping her eyes on both of them; Alucard suspects holding her tongue is taking no small effort on her part, especially given the recurring twitch of her brow that’s refused to wane in the past few days.

He’s sure she has plenty to say; but he’s been reticent to confess any of his suffering, especially to Trevor. 

His vision blurs, eyes tired, as he continues to scan the books. It’s in the fifth book on vampire nature; a gilded, black thing, relatively thin; that he notices his father’s handwriting in the margins. He can barely make it out; the man always did have a bit of a chicken scratch; but as he studies it carefully the words do come to him. It’s something about bloodlust, about carnality; ‘these coldest beings run hot with destruction,’ he makes out.

_Perhaps_ , he acquiesces. That does seem one way of looking at it.

And below that; there’s his mother’s own writing, ink much less faded. Alucard scans it with curiosity; he’d seen how she would, at times, add addendums to his father’s own annotations; but still, this is curious.

_Oh, please,_ it begins, and Alucard can’t quite stifle an amused smile;  _a vampire’s brutality comes not from some horrible corruption of blood, but from the very same human qualities of violence and aggression they held before the Turning. The Vampire has simply been given better tools and greater anger and trauma with which to exact this carnage._

Further down—

_At times they abandon their other human qualities; the more positive ones; the ones fueled by closeness and community and empathy. But truly, there is nothing more monstrous than a human being. Nothing more whole, either. To Hunger is human, entirely; just as it is to love._

Alucard sucks in a breath, suddenly aware of the tension that’s been forming between his shoulders. His mother always saw things differently; gifted by some power of sight that could cut through the clouded layers of previous perception. And, frankly, he’d never known her to be wrong.

Alucard hasn’t seen her spectre about the castle in some time now; at least not since his companions had rejoined him. And while he’s glad that the sorrow and guilt in his heart has abated, there’s a part of him that misses glancing her form wandering the hall, her hair shining gold regardless of the light.

Even though the castle is full of her work, her likeness; he still often feels that he has so little left of her. Without his visions, then, another part of her, however ghostly, has gone away as well. Still; she would no doubt insist it was all for the better, wouldn’t she? He knows it’s foolish, but...

_She would remind me I have not been abandoned_ , he thinks. _She is with me, and even without her I am not alone._

He glances at the ornate clock hung high on the wall; the hour has grown late. He’s surely missed dinner; Alucard muses that Trevor and Sypha have probably cleaned up already and gone their separate ways; Sypha usually finds something to explore between the castle and the Hold that will keep her up into the wee hours, until she’ll inevitably crash and sleep on the floor.

They’ve tried several times to persuade her otherwise, but gotten nowhere. She’d only said she was productive at night, and not to worry.

Trevor, curiously, seems to keep a more predictable schedule; when things are calm, he regularly retires before midnight and wakes mid-morning; at least, if he hasn’t been drinking.

It’s a schedule that’s likely been interrupted by the nightmares Sypha’s told him Trevor’s been suffering, he reminds himself. Gaze still fixed on the clock, he sighs; a part of him breaks; maybe, breaks open. The moonlight is starting to pour into the room, Alucard standing among the shelves, noting he’s let it go dark around him.

Honestly, it’s not that he’s too prideful to say anything; he is _prideful_ , yes, but this is not the main deterrent. It’s about safety, truly. There is nothing quite so threatening to the self as revealing one’s true nature; and to an unpredictable audience, no less. He’s barely allowed himself to delve into how debased he feels at these glances of his own mind; what a reminder they are of his darkest parts.

The risk seems so much greater than any bodily harm that could ever be done to him.

Ah, if Trevor heard that; well, he would simply give an insufferable smirk and say, “No risk, no reward,” in that careless way of his, Alucard thinks. And, as loathsome as he might find it, perhaps he would be right. 

______

Alucard steels himself as he raps on the large ornate door, twice; two sharp knocks, quick in succession. He waits with held breath, chest giving a tight squeeze. After a moment, he hears a quiet curse; it’s so characteristic he has to try not to smile; and a second later the door is flung open by a flushed Trevor, shirtless, his hair damp; presumably from a bath.

“Getting ready for bed?” Alucard asks; the hour’s certainly late enough. Even feeling uncharacteristically awkward, he shifts his weight, moving a hand to his hip.

Trevor squints at him, but backs away from the door frame, a sign of allowing him access into the room. “Yes, actually,” he says, hand combing his drying hair out of his face. “Not all of us can stay up brooding into the night and still be able to function the next day.”

Alucard simply rolls his eyes at this, surprised to find he’s somewhat grateful for the banter. He steps into the room; one of many bedrooms in the castle; he’d chosen this one for Trevor because the man had a knack for getting lost on his way to and from the kitchens, and this was the closest. 

While it’s rather empty, the bed is plush and the few pieces left in the room are carved, rich wood. Alucard had even fixed the windows a while back; he’d done the same for Sypha, although she used her own room less than he’d like. The castle’s artificial lights glow a soft amber; Trevor had finally figured out how to use them, then.

Alucard’s eyes flicker to Trevor’s form, settling on his many exposed scars, all curving along hard muscle. The man is barefoot and clad only in his trousers, still flush across his face and chest from washing with the castle’s hot water. He smells faintly of sandalwood, the scent clinging to his skin, thrumming along his pulse points. 

“Did you need something?” Trevor asks, abruptly crossing his arms; he almost looks a bit lost; and Alucard blinks out of his distracted reverie.

“Oh,” he says, feeling slow. “I just... wanted to check on you.”

The disbelieving look that transforms Trevor’s face tells him perhaps this was a misstep. “Check on me?” he asks, sounding so incredulous Alucard thinks, maybe, he should be offended about his perceived lack of concern for his friend. “What for?”

Alucard’s throat works, silent for a moment, his eyes downcast; before he says, “Ah, Sypha said you’d been having... nightmares.”

The look on Trevor’s face goes from confused to spooked in less than a second. The fear is altogether surprising; Alucard can see the man trying to master it, smother it, but it sticks stubbornly around his eyes. Trevor swallows; there’s a long moment of silence, one Alucard doesn’t want to break when things already feel so precarious; and then the man clears his throat, voice sticking as he asks, “nightmares?”

“Violent ones,” Alucard supplies, after sucking in a breath. “They sounded like they must be quite disturbing, so—“

He watches the fear on Trevor’s face, feeling sick; his stomach pulses with it.

“Is that all she said?” Trevor is asking, but his voice sounds as if it’s coming through deep, murky water. Alucard’s mouth is dry; he licks his lips, eyes flickering again to the other man’s face.

_At least put him out of his misery_ , he tells himself.

“I’ve been having similar dreams,” he admits, raising his brows at the grain of the wooden floor. “Violent ones, I mean. It’s... unpleasant.”

He hears Trevor open his mouth, lips smacking as they part. “Similar?”

“In their brutality, as far as I’m aware,” Alucard answers, voice going quiet. He hopes this is enough.

He looks to see Trevor’s face softening at that, although he doesn’t understand why. They look at each other for a moment, Alucard feeling more and more surreal by the second.

“Am I in them?” Trevor asks, so sudden it surprises the man in front of him.

Alucard feels horribly small for a moment, perhaps in realizing the Belmont may well be braver than he is; then he lets out a breath, closing his eyes. “Yes,” he says, and his teeth are gritted; “the main reason I’d made no mention of them. Although I’ve been struggling with them for some time now.”

Trevor looks at him silently, studying his face. “How bad do they get?” he says softly, after a beat of anxious tension.

Alucard blinks. “Bad,” he replies, unsure of how to respond. “They haunt me into the day.”

“Mine do the same,” Trevor admits hoarsely, and then he’s moving to sit down on the bed. “I don’t suppose it’s some sort of coincidence.”

Alucard lifts his eyes to the man’s scars again, feeling a tight fluttering in his chest. He’s about to speak when Trevor interrupts him.

“You’re in mine,” he says, looking away. “The dreams. You’re in them and they’re always gruesome.” Alucard is surprised to find the man who helped him kill Dracula is; well; _fidgeting_ , his hands anxiously tugging at one another. “Not that you’re what makes them gruesome; I just mean. You’re there. So, obviously, I wasn’t going to say anything either.”

Alucard feels himself stepping forward without thought, stopping at the edge of the footboard; he hovers, excess energy buzzing through his skull. “I suppose we’ve both known stranger things,” he says carefully.

Trevor looks at him then, eyes startlingly bright; Alucard feels breathless, frozen under the gaze. The man stands from the bed, but doesn’t move forward; simply stands still as Alucard feels the air go heavy and warm. “Stranger things?”

Alucard finds himself leaning forward, face going hot as he says “I have to admit that I’m tired of sleepless nights. I am.” His throat works as Trevor stares at him; the feeling of exposure is overwhelming. “They scare me.” Alucard’s voice devolves into a grunt on the last syllable, his fear peaking through. “They make me afraid I am the beast your family had always thought.”

He doesn’t look up. He can’t. He hears Trevor step forward; watches his toes come into view on the floor; and stays silent.

“Then I must be a beast as well,” Trevor murmurs, throat sounding raw. 

The first brush of lips is soft; Trevor closes the distance quickly between them. It takes Alucard by surprise; of course it does; but acceptance rises in him so willing and easy he barely finds the time to question it.

But just as quickly it’s gone, and Trevor is watching him again, a step backward; eyes still intense. Alucard doesn’t breathe, but he blinks and sees Trevor looking so pained that on some instinct, Alucard rushes forward if only to ease the man’s thoughts. His own bravery surprises him, and yet he still can’t be bothered to care; they attach themselves to each other, space between them quickly closed.

Alucard finds with a quiet thrill that he likes the feeling of being crowded, their mouths sliding together softly but with the crushing weight of promise. His skin sings for him to push in harder, and so he does, Trevor’s fingers curling softly in his hair. Alucard kisses more fiercely, his fingernails grazing the man’s bicep in a way that elicits a growl, and that’s too much, _too much—_

He barely realizes he’s backed them into the bed until they’re both falling on it with an _oomph_ , Trevor landing underneath him. He makes some quip about Alucard being heavy, which Alucard dutifully ignores in favor of kissing him harder, catching his open (complaining) mouth by surprise.

“You’re certainly aggressive,” Trevor says, pulling away for air, and Alucard admonishes himself for the way he chases his lips as he backs away.

“You can’t say it’s uncharacteristic,” Alucard counters, brow raised. They’re so close still, noses only a foot apart. The air seems to squeeze at them, heat willing them closer and closer.

“Why?” Trevor asks, and he’s lifting a hand, carding it through Alucard’s locks— “because you’re you, or because you’re part vampire?” His fingers settle on the tip of the _dhampir’s_ ear, swiping along the pointed tip of the cartilage.

Alucard does his best not to shudder, senses lighting with frightful delight as Trevor traces calloused fingers down to his jaw. “Both,” he puffs out, feeling indignant. Their chests are pressed together, and Alucard can feel the other man’s heart thrumming against his. Trevor’s thumb settles over his lips, touching softly at his mouth.

“I’m sure I can be plenty aggressive with my human desires,” Trevor says idly, thumb slipping into Alucard’s mouth, still rubbing the softness of his lip, now wet and slick. The man curses, and instantly, Alucard’s heart goes haywire, the smell of fresh blood filling him up, up; it’s only after a moment of calming himself that he realizes Trevor’s cut his thumb on one of Alucard’s fangs.

His eyes pin the other man, gazing at him intently. Slowly, he take’s hold of Trevor’s hand, sealing his mouth around his thumb to garner suction. It’s such a horribly delicious taste of something Alucard hardly ever allows himself; he lets himself drink greedily for just a moment, from the smallest pinprick. Trevor stares up at him, looking electrified, eyes wide, pupils edging away his bright irises.

The rush of warmth, the scent; it’s intoxicating, but... it’s not what he needs now. He releases Trevor’s thumb softly, gently holding the calloused palm of the man below him, lowering his eyes to the man’s wrist. He presses his lips down to the delicate skin, softly as he can; he hears Trevor’s heart start to hammer loudly, blood thrumming through him hot and seductive.

He stays there a moment, savoring the thunderous sound in Trevor’s veins, before he removes his lips, looking up through his eyelashes at Trevor’s entranced form. The man stares at him, looking at him rather dumbstruck. Alucard kisses at Trevor’s inner elbow next, the blood pulsing hard there as well; then to his bicep, and then his shoulder; his eyes follow the varying scars as he moves up the man’s arm. Alucard pauses to inhale the scent of blood and hunger between them, feeling drunk on it.

He can feel, hot and insistent, that Trevor’s hard beneath him as he dips to kiss his lips again; Trevor sucks in a breath below him as their bodies align and connect, and then they’re pressing in harder and harder. Alucard moves against the man below him, and Trevor’s legs entangle with his, holding him close, and Alucard wants to growl as the pleasure sparks low and shoots up into his spine. He’s running on the fumes of their desire, and it doesn’t take him long to start pulling, frustrated, at Trevor’s trousers, finally succeeding in tugging them down to the man’s thighs as Trevor slips his hands under Alucard’s shirt, grabbing at his chest. 

The man’s fingers make quick work of the minimal buttons, until Alucard simply shrugs out of the linen, just as impatient, and then the lacing to his own trousers is being loosened with increasing desperation. Alucard nips hungrily at Trevor’s lips, only hard enough to bruise, and soon they’re sliding against each other, skin on skin, all fabric nuisances pulled away.

Alucard traces a hand along the silky skin of Trevor’s cock, rutting against him with his own, growing more frenzied by the second. The pleasure pours into his stomach, overwhelming and electric, Trevor mumbling something in his ear. Alucard knows he must look disheveled, most of his hair fallen into his face as sweat begins to form on his brow; Trevor reaches up to touch the blond strands again, but this time he pulls, guiding Alucard’s lips to his again, and _fuck_ if that isn’t delicious.

They move faster against each other, everything gone slick and sensitive, and Alucard shakes with each breath, the air pulsing against his skin, body overrun with adrenaline. _He is wild as I am_ , he thinks, and feels undone by the all-encompassing thrill of it. 

He feels stripped of mind and reason entirely and yet cares not at all, his stomach clenching as the pleasure mounts. “I can’t,” he murmurs against the lips before him, but Trevor only bucks up against him harder, sending everything shimmery-hot with crushing ecstasy. _Oh_ , Alucard thinks, and, “ _Oh—“_

Trevor bites into his shoulder, giving a deep groan, and ruts up hard. Alucard feels the warmth of Trevor’s spend spilling between them, and he’s shaking like a leaf as he moves once, twice more; and follows the man into a bliss that bends him and twists him and breaks him open. 

Everything moves slow and funny-soft as he tries to hold himself up, feeling the slickness between them, and he huffs out an incredulous breath. One last kiss; perhaps a reassurance he’s still real, awake, alive, a messy slide of lips tinged with the salt of sweat; and Alucard lets himself fall to Trevor’s side on the plush bed, limbs still thrumming with pleasurable static. He curls up there, folding himself into Trevor’s side, sweating into the soft draft of the room. 

He’s surprised to find Trevor brushing his own disheveled golden hair from his face, fingers lingering on the _dhampir’s_ cheek. They’re gone another moment later, drawn away as Trevor knocks his skull back into the headboard. 

“Well,” he says, eyes closed, “maybe now I should mention those gruesome nightmares of mine had a bit of an erotic element.”

Alucard blinks. “What?”

The sweat shines on Trevor’s chest, and the skin still flushed red. “Ah, yeah,” Trevor admits. “There was still plenty of gore, but, it was there, in a lot of them.” He looks over at Alucard’s curled form. “Not the case for you?” he asks, silhouette nonchalant, although his voice turns up in a way that suggests otherwise. 

Alucard’s brows cling together as he tilts his head. “I suppose there was. I just... didn’t really take stock of it.” He gives a small shrug. “Beasts of my nature always seemed to mix bloodlust with normal carnal desire, so I suppose it just seemed... incidental.”

“Incidental,” Trevor scoffs, reclining again. “One way of looking at it, I suppose.”

“Well, I see now that it’s not,” Alucard defends, although he’s not particularly bothered. 

Trevor gives a small snort, and they slip into silence, the energy in the room quieting as their sweat cools. Trevor’s hand rests against his thigh; Alucard watches him for a moment, then swallows, reaching out. Delicately, he threads their fingers together; Trevor gives him a surprised look at this, but doesn’t pull away. In fact, he looks a little amused.

No matter. Alucard curls in on himself further, hand still folded with Trevor’s, and closes his eyes. 

He drifts off like that, weighed downin a peaceful euphoria; and, most horribly, most deliciously, as he’ll realize in the morning; satisfaction. 

______

They go a bit wild exploring each other in the coming days. After exhausting all methods with their hands and mouths alone, Alucard finds himself slipping into Trevor’s body as they lay on their sides, his chest pressed into the man’s back. They rock together like that, into a glorious, slow frenzy. Later, Alucard places himself in Trevor’s lap, rocking himself on the man’s cock, until neither of them can speak; can barely breathe. 

Sometimes they simply lay together in the sweat and heat afterward, quiet and still. It’s one of the most peaceful things Alucard’s known in a long time. 

He sleeps soundly, and so does his companion. 

During the day, Trevor will catch his eye, and smile in that infuriating way of his. Sometimes he touches Alucard’s arm, lingers, gaze flashing warm. Alucard will take any excuse to touch his hands; Sypha notices, surely. She seems a little smug, but is kind enough not to say anything.

Every time Alucard moves in to touch the other man, it sparks a thought that keeps his heart swirling with light, whole and glowing. He tells himself that Trevor’s touch is a promise to him that he will never, never again, go hungry on future days, wild and ravenous as he may be. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to say thank you for all the (honestly surprising) support on this fic! It’s been a total experiment and I’m so happy that it’s worked for some people. 
> 
> The title of this fic is taken from Mary Oliver’s “Wild Geese,” because I’m a Nerd. (You only have the Let the soft animal of your body love what it loves...)
> 
> I’m still anxious about season 3, but, like I said. That’s what fanfiction is for. Thanks for enjoying some nebulous dreams and questionably sexy gore with me and these two repressed dummies.


End file.
